


Such Bad Boys

by SaskiaK



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Desolation Row, Psychological Torture, extreme violence, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-26 06:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10781793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: "The video shoot for Desolation Row won't end quite as expected... I'll make sure of that! Oh, such bad boys, someone has to punish them."  Chapter 8 posted - The End (but there is a sequel)





	1. The end of the video, and the van moves off...

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place on the set of the Desolation Row video just as the police van pulls away

I’d been waiting for this moment all night. Do you know how long it takes to shoot a three-minute video? Well, this one took all day and it’s still not finished. Some of the scenes are scheduled to be shot later and then edited in, but all the band scenes are finished. There’s a lot going on with this one. It’s actually supposed to be pretty violent; shame it’ll never be released. Probably never even get finished.  
  
I know what you’re thinking. Which band? What video? Well, I’m on the set of the Desolation Row video shoot. The guys of My Chemical Romance have just finished their final scene. Luckily for me, it’s actually the last scene of the video. Now, you’ll never see this video, as I said, so let me describe it for you. It’s a My Chemical Romance performance in a New York club. The guys are throwing everything into the song and quite literally causing a riot. They’ve got a whole new look now. No longer the smart uniforms of The Black Parade. No, now they’ve found ripped, very tight pants and leather at the back of their wardrobes and resurrected them for this sexy bad-boy look. I can tell you, they do look very sexy, but they can't dress and look like that and not expect to be punished for it. Well, that's what he's told me anyway.

Anyway, back to the video. Half way through, roughly, the police arrive to quell the riot and arrest the guys. They’re pretty rough with them too, I mean really. Gerard has a truly furious expression as he’s pushed face first onto the hood of a patrol car and handcuffed. He looks like he’s being roughed up and he’s not acting, if you see what I mean. Such an expressive face; yes, delightfully so.  
  
Ah, yes, the handcuffs, I should mention that our bad boys insisted upon the real thing. I’ve seen video or photo shoots before where a band pretended to be tied up or similar and it was so obviously faked, it was laughable. Perhaps they believe someone will pull a practical joke and refuse to release them? I don't know. But no such cheating with the guys of My Chemical Romance who refused to con their fans and bravely opted for the real thing. So yes, as the police lead them out of the club, they’re not going easily, but they really are very bad boys.  
  
They’re locked in the police van, it moves off slowly and drives out of shot. The director shouts cut and I can hear them laughing excitedly in the van. They’ve had a lot of fun making it, but they’re glad it’s over. Not for long though.

Where am I? I’m at the wheel of the van. I'm not the person who's supposed to be here. He's dead. So here I am, driving. Still driving. They haven’t realised yet, they’re still too excited, but any moment now, they’re going to realise that they’ve all just been kidnapped.


	2. "Why are we still moving?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They may think they’re bad, but I can be so much worse. They’ll learn that in time."

“Why are we still moving?”  
  
Ah! Here it comes, they’ve finally noticed. I think that was Frank. Bright boy, Frank. Mind you, it took him long enough. I’ve been driving for a good five minutes now.  
  
“Simon!”  
  
Aww, bless, he doesn’t know that Simon’s dead. Probably still lying under the catering truck. It’s dark; I’m not really expecting anyone to find him for quite a long time.  
  
“Simon!”  
  
I’m wearing Simon’s police uniform. I had to pad out the hat, it was far too big and the jacket swamps me. The back is soaked in blood, from where the knife went in, but no one can see that.  
  
“Take a look.”  
  
I’m not sure, but I think that was Gerard. Ha! If I time this right, it should be pretty funny.  
  
“Simon?”  
  
A quick glance up to the grating at the back of the cab reveals Frank’s worried face staring through. Ah yes, he can see the blood from that angle.  
  
“Who are you?” he cries with surprise. “W… Wh…” he stammers charmingly.  
  
I do like Frankie, but he has to be taught a lesson, they all do. They simply can’t look and dress the way they do without being punished. That’s my job. I know you’re probably thinking, no, your job is catering assistant to the set, but this is something I felt was important. And it’s something I believe is necessary, why else would I agree to do it?  
  
Anyway, back to now. The van’s a stick shift and, pulling it down a gear, and slamming my foot down on the gas makes it lurch forward. A loud thud followed by a yelp of pain tells me that Frank has been thrown to the floor. The really good thing about driving one of these is that I won’t get stopped, not even if they start looking for it. You see I covered the plates with fake ones. No one’s looking for _this_ van. Those boys are mine now and they had better get used to it. Well, for at least as long as they survive.

  
Turning a corner sharply, I can hear more chaos in the back. I know he’s trying to get up, but if I time this right, every attempt will have him spinning to the floor again. But what can he do? He’s handcuffed. There’s nothing he can do? I’ll make sure of it.  
  
“Who is it? What’s going on?”  
  
That’s definitely Ray, there’s no mistaking his voice.  
  
“I don’t know, but it’s not Simon. Bob, get your foot off me!”  
“I’m holding you still! Trying to stop you rolling around in here like a penny!”  
  
Bob Bryar thinks he’s so smart! But I’ll teach him to disrupt my fun; I’ve found the van’s intercom.  
  
_“Sit still and shut up! Now!”_  
  
It’s silent for the briefest of moments, but that’s broken by Gerard.  
  
“Who are you? What are you doing?”  
_“Isn’t that obvious?” I ask. “You’ve been kidnapped.”_  
  
Ah, the blissful silence again. But again, it’s broken. This time by kicking at the door. It’s locked, they won’t get out, but what do they hope to achieve anyway? We’re speeding along the Garden State Parkway, over half way there now, if that door flies open, all they’ll do is tumble out into traffic. I don’t want that. And even if they do stay in, what are they hoping? They will just look like criminals, handcuffed and in a police van. Even here, they’re hoping too much to be recognised, late at night, by a passing driver. There’s only one thing for it. I’ve checked, there’s no one behind me; I’m hitting the brakes.  
  
Behind the cab, as I move off again, I can hear panicked screams followed by a lot of noise – scuffling, groans and finally.  
  
“Mikey? Mikes are you okay?”  
  
There’s no reply.  
  
“Stop this fucking van! He’s hurt!”  
_“I told you before! Sit down and shut up!”_  
“Bob, you’re closest, can you stop the bleeding?”  
_“SHUT UP!”_  
  
Oh, sometimes they make me so angry. They’ll pay for that. I don’t have to put up with any of their attitude. They may think they’re bad, but I can be so much worse.

They’ll learn that in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters are so short. I have to get myself in the right mindset for it and it's hard staying in 'psycho' mode for too long! :P


	3. Escape? No, I don't think so.

Apart from the odd whisper, it’s been pretty quiet all the way and I’ve had some time to myself, which is nice. I’ve had so much to do lately. Preparing the house took a long time; there were a lot of details to get just right. I’m nothing if not a perfectionist. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’m getting so angry with them? They’re probably not used to it. I don’t know, but I do know that from now on, it’s my house, my rules. And I know my rules don’t suit everyone, but they’ll just have to cope with it. 

I’ve had to buy a lot of heavy-duty locks and chains too and that’s not an easy thing to do without drawing attention to yourself. You see, I’m not a fool, I know that there are some people who would try to stop me doing this, but of course, they don’t know all the details. And without all the information, how can they know what’s right? This is right. Why else would I be asked to do it? He explained it all to me very carefully, more than once. It makes perfect sense when you know, right?

But look, here I am convincing myself! I’m just letting my mind wander. It’s a pleasant enough drive, the highway was clear, even the small suburban roads are practically deserted. And here it is. Home.

Well, my parents home, to be precise. I inherited it from them when they died. When? Oh, quite recently, but then I did say I had a lot to do lately.

I’ve driven around the back of the house. It’s very quiet there and it’s not overlooked by any other houses. Pulling up and switching the engine off, I’m listening intently to hear what they’re saying. I know they’re planning something. I hope they’re not too loud when I open the door, I don’t want any complaints from the neighbours. If only I could have gagged them somehow. But, never mind, you take what you can, eh? And, well, I took them!

Ditching the cap and jacket in the cab, I reach for the large kitchen knife on the passenger seat and the small canister resting nearby. That should do the trick. Circling around to the back of the van, I reach up with my left hand to unlock the door and bam! I’m on the floor with what may be the biggest bruise of my life forming on my forehead. I can hear shouts from inside and they’re climbing, no jumping down from inside. I can’t begin to tell you how furious I am with them! To my right, I can see I’ve dropped the knife and Ray is heading for it. Here I have the advantage, my hands are free. Rolling quickly and sweeping a leg across his, he’s tumbling to the floor within inches of his prize. But, it’s too late. It’s back in my hands and so is he.

I’ve grabbed a handful of his thick mop of hair, pulled him to his knees and yanked his head back, my head so close to his that his hair is actually obscuring most of my face. Nestling the blade firmly against his neck, just below the jaw, I glare at the others. I'm making it pretty clear that I will not abide disobedience like that and they stop very still. Pulling my breaths in slowly, I’m now forcing myself to calm down. I really don’t think they realise just how angry I am right now.

“Get back in the van,” I tell them quietly.  
“Okay!” Gerard nods. “Okay. Don’t hurt him.”

I look at Frank who can't seem to take his eyes off Ray; if his expression is anything to go by, Ray is terrified.

Looking past, I can see that Mikey’s still in the van, unconscious and pale. Their only hope was to overpower me. There was simply no way they would have made a break for it and left him. 

“Take that with you,” I insist, nodding to the dropped canister. “When you’re back in there, open it.”  
“What will it do?” Bob says as he kneels awkwardly to pick it up, still with his hands locked behind him.  
“You’re so smart. Figure it out!”

Pulling the knife an inch to the right, I can’t help but smile as I see the horror on their faces as I draw Ray’s blood. Without further question, they’re retreating to the van and only seconds later, I can see some of the gas from the opened canister leaking out through the doors. I know they’re either unconscious or very nearly so.

“So what do I do with you?” 

He doesn’t reply; I didn’t really expect him to.

“If I take this knife away, you’re going to try to overpower me again, aren’t you?”  
"No," he whispers. "I won't."

Of course, he's lying. So very rude.

Dragging the knife quickly back and across his throat takes the sharp blade almost down to the spine. And you know the best thing? He can’t scream. Yes, he’s making some really strange gurgling noises and the blood is making a terrible mess on my patio, but I can clean that up. 

It’s odd how people clutch at their throat when it’s been slit; like they think they can push the blood back in and hold it there. They can’t. I’ve seen it far too often.

I’m a little angry still. I was supposed to get it all on tape. He wanted proof and their behaviour has already messed up my plans. If there’s one thing they have to learn, it’s that being so very handsome does not give them some sort of right to be so unruly. 

Time to get them inside.


	4. What's next? Ah, yes, that's right, Frankie!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having already dealt with Ray, she turns her attentions to Frank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Parts of this chapter may be distressing. I don't know how much, but, well, don't read if you're young, squeamish or easily freaked out/disturbed.

Oh! That was a good night’s sleep! Well, a good morning’s sleep, actually; it’s nearly midday. But then, I didn’t get to bed until gone five. It takes a lot of effort to drag five grown men around this house. Although, ever prepared, I did make use of a removals trolley - they look skinny but it's mostly muscle and that weighs!

Five, you ask? Yes, I had to bring Ray in too. It’s not that anyone will see him lying on the patio, but I will have to prove that I’ve killed him and I don’t want rodents turning him into breakfast and obscuring his face. Although, seriously, could there be anyone else with that hair?  
  
Okay, so, showered, dried and dressed. What’s next? Ah, yes, that’s right. Frankie.  
  
It’s only a short walk to the cellar, but I’m so excited, I can hardly get there fast enough. From the camera that’s already recording, I can see he’s awake and I know he’s shouting for help too. But he’s not going to get any.  
  
“Good morning, Frankie!” I greet him cheerily, as I close the door behind me.  
  
Descending the stairs, I can see him quite clearly. He’s kneeling, roughly in the centre of the room with his ankles and knees bound. His arms are pulled out slightly, away from his body and secured at the wrists by a simple arrangement of chains and locks leading down to two thick metal rings firmly embedded in the concrete beneath him. I removed his leather jacket, so now, he’s just in ripped tight jeans and a t-shirt. He must be cold. I feel a little bad that I didn't give him a blanket or something, but I need access to his arm and I can hardly take his jacket off after I've chained him up, can I?  
  
I’m a big fan of simplicity. The more complex something is, the more likely that something will go wrong. Not this. Looking at how he’s secured, he can barely move and I can’t help but smile. He looks so beautiful like that. Not so bad now; he just looks scared. I’ve allowed just a little slack in the chains at his wrists to… how shall I put this? To increase the entertainment value…  
  
Standing now only a few feet away from him, I stare down expectantly. I’ve greeted him politely; I expect the same in return.  
  
“Who are you? What do you want?” he pauses as he merely stares wide-eyed and scared. “Where are my friends?”  
  
He’s rude, arrogant and demanding. I had no idea he was like that - he _looks_ as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. But I suppose looks can be deceiving.

Pushing my glasses back up my nose and hooking my mousey brown hair behind my ear, I take a few steps forward before swinging the back of my semi-clenched hand across his face.

I’m not proud of myself for hitting him. It's just that I thought... or at least I wanted to think that maybe he was better than that. I just lost my temper! I’ll try to reign in my irritation, there are things to be done and I have to make sure they’re done properly.  
  
I notice that he’s shrunk back away from me as far as the chains will allow and he looks pale and scared. Still no greeting! I mean, how rude are these people? I bring them into my home and they just make demands and behave like animals! Only now, I notice that my fists and jaw are clenched. I never questioned why he asked me to do this other than the reason he gave me, but now I’m beginning to understand for myself.  
  
“What do you want?" His voice is hesitant and breathless. "Please? Ransom?”   
  
His voice is quieter than before and he's shaking his head slightly. I actually think he’s a little afraid of me. I’m toying with the possibility of asking why, but I’m also quite keen to move things along. So, stilling my curiosity, I place the bag I’m carrying on a nearby table and open it wide.Taking out a small bottle filled with a pale blue liquid and a syringe – the syringe is used and grubby, but it was all I could find, I hope he doesn’t mind – I draw the liquid up the needle filling the vial.  
  
“What’s that?” he asks nervously. “What do you want with me? Say something!”  
“This?”  
  
He really does sound terrified. Maybe I should put him at ease? After all, he might be rude, but I'm not, so I decide to answer his first question as I grab his arm and force the needle, puncturing his skin, possibly a little roughly - I feel bad about that. Depressing the plunger, I feel him tense in my grip, but he can't pull away.  
  
“It’s a combination of a synthetic adrenaline and a mild hallucinogen. It’s going to make your heart race out of control. Basically, it’ll induce panic, beyond anything you’ve ever felt before.”  
  
I watch him, pale, clammy and sweating as he feels his heart begin to pound wildly in his chest. It's possibly kicked in a little earlier than even I expected but then, he is strangely nervous, he's probably already making some adrenalin of his own. I'm just adding to it, really. But I'm adding a lot.

Gasping at the shock of it, beads of sweat form and roll from his forehead and down his cheeks as his heart races faster still.

Straining on the chains as the adrenaline turns his fear to anger, I can almost see every muscle in his small but beautiful frame, now glistening with sweat, tense and bulge. But now, it’s time to take advantage of the hallucinogen and turn his anger to something else. Abject terror.  
  
Stepping back, I watch for a few moments, passionate in my fascination, before reaching for a rope dangling from an arrangement of pulleys high above him. Pulling the rope tips the box hanging near the ceiling. As it tilts, the lid swings open depositing its contents over the helpless man kneeling below.  
  
I can’t help myself, my lips curl into a broad grin and even my heart races as I hear his terrified shrieks fill the room and watch his struggles grow ever more frantic. There must have been hundreds, maybe thousands of spiders in that box and now, they’re all over him. Different species, different sizes. All harmless, but to someone with a deeply held phobia… well, I can see how it’s affecting him.  
  
Lost in terror and pulling frantically on the chains, his wrists are now raw and bleeding profusely. The panic in his eyes is captivating, the adrenalin coursing through his veins refusing to allow him to pass out. He’s trying to run, but his legs are bound so tightly he can barely move, there’s nothing he can do.

And now I can see the hallucinogen is taking effect. He probably sees them grow in number and size. Mandibles reaching out for him menacingly. I can see him pull away from nothing, screaming, begging for help. They're in his hair, his clothes, his eyes and mouth. He's terrified beyond all reason.  
  
There is no help, no rescue, no mercy. Soon enough, the drug will push his heart to its limits and it’ll stop beating, releasing him from his nightmare. The camera is still recording. It’s enough. There’s only so much pleasure to be gained from this.

I wonder who'll wake next?


	5. Mikey wakes up

You know, I’m still tired. To make sure I’m not jumping around from camera to camera, I’ve rigged up a series of computers so I can see what’s happening. What’s happening right now? I’m having lunch. A nice steaming hot bowl of vegetable soup. Lovely!

“You’re not watching the cameras!”

Glancing up, I can see his dark scowl staring down at me. He’s been jittery since he arrived and he’s starting to make me feel nervous now. I can really do without that. 

“No, I’m not.”  
“What if they wake up?”  
“It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”  
“No,” he snaps angrily. “But you do have a job to do.”  
“Oh, you mean you’re concerned I won’t be there to torture them?”

He offers a deep frown in return, followed by what appears to be a thoughtful pout.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”  
“Well, if you’re so keen, why don’t you do it? I don't mind.”  
“I don’t want to be on the recording. I told you, I only want to watch it, I don’t want to be in it.”

I roll my eyes at the very idea of him being camera shy.

“All right! Make yourself useful and watch the monitors then. If someone wakes up, tell me and I’ll deal with it. But right now, I’m having my lunch and watching television. Is that okay with you?”

I listen with a great deal of annoyance as he heaves a deep dramatic sigh. Oh, he can be so annoying.

“Whatever,” he finally gives in.

Allowing my shoulders to rest back into the comfy cushions of the chair, the now empty bowl at my side, I point the remote control at the television. I know that really I shouldn’t have been surprised, but the main topic of conversation on the news was the kidnapping of My Chemical Romance. A spokesman from the media company putting together the video and their manager were on screen. They seemed worried.

“Tell me, Brian,” the news anchor began, “You’re the band’s manager. Did you or the band receive any threats or strange messages before the kidnapping?”  
“No,” Brian shook his head unhappily. “There was nothing to suggest anything like this was going to happen.”  
“And have you heard from the kidnappers yet? Can you tell us about the ransom demand? I imagine it’s pretty high.”

Brian turned back to the anchor, hardly knowing where to begin.

“We’ve heard nothing. Nothing at all.”  
“Do you think this is a personal attack?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Not for money, for personal reasons.”  
“If it is, I can’t imagine who would do something like this.”  
“If I can come to you now? Zack Snyder, you were directing the filming of the video. Did you suspect anything?”  
“No, of course not! Do you think I would have risked anyone’s lives if I had?”  
“Well, I’m not suggesting that, Mr Snyder, but…”  
“Then what are you suggesting? The whole band has been kidnapped, one of my crew has been found dead and another is missing. Do you think I’d risk that?”  
“Can you tell us more about the attack on your staff?”  
“Simon Harrison was supposed to drive the van out of shot at the end of the video. His body was found later, hidden under the catering truck.”  
“And the missing person?”  
“Marion Jacobs,” Snyder rubbed his eyes distractedly. “She’s a catering assistant. We think there’s a chance she witnessed Simon’s murder, we haven’t found her.”

“Ha!” I cry in surprise, pointing at the television. “Did you hear that? They think I’m a witness, probably dead!”  
“Well?” He frowns turning from the cameras. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”  
“I guess,” I reply with a smile. “They’re not looking for me as the kidnapper, at least. I must look far too sweet and gentle for that!”

His lip curled up into a smirk as he considered my words. 

“They don’t know you at all.”

Turning back to the television, I get only the briefest of glances at it before he’s disturbing me again.

“Mikey’s awake. Get down there.”

Switching off the television, I push myself from the chair. This one’s going to be a little trickier – I’m going to feel it myself, a little, anyway.

❮


	6. Don't you want to watch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethings are harder than others

I’m not even out the door and I can hear him muttering something under his breath. I don’t have the time or the inclination to worry about it. I’m thinking about Mikey. 

I’m a little surprised that he’s woken before Bob, given that he’d got hurt when I slammed on the brakes on the way here. Knocked his head or something. He always gives the impression of being rather delicate. Whilst in contrast, Bob seems pretty sturdy. Not big, particularly, just, well, I’ll just say that if he weren’t chained up, I wouldn’t mess with him. I think it’s Mikey’s build that gives the impression of fragility, but I’m willing to bet there’s nothing remotely fragile about him. Anyway, he’s awake now, so it’s his turn.

This is a bit different. First of all, I’m only going to be see him on a monitor. There’s a camera on him and sound is all linked up, but we won’t be in the same place, not like before with Frankie or Ray. This is different and I have a strong suspicion I’m not going to like it. Why? Because I have my own fears and this is one of mine. But, I have to keep in mind that it’s not happening to me. That said, I can feel the tension growing in me, I don’t feel at all relaxed.

I’m in the room with his own personal monitor and I push the sound levels up. A quick check of the camera tells me it’s recording. It’s recording on night vision as, it’s pretty dark in there and the only light he has is the dim glow of the tiny red bulb on the front of the camera.

I’m trying to work out what he’s thinking, because, as yet, he’s not saying anything. He’s just lying very still with his eyes darting from left to right.

“Gee?”

His breathing is already rather erratic and laboured. He hasn’t even moved yet.

“Gee?”

A pause.

“Frank?”

Pause.

“Anyone?”

I’m just watching, utterly transfixed. He’s already very scared. He’s alone, it’s dark and… ah, he’s moving. I watch him tentatively reach out a hand in the pitch-blackness, drawing it back almost immediately as his fingers brush against an obstacle. Trying again, his fingertips touch what he now realises is wood. Moving his fingers, now both hands, along in front of him, he’s worked out that it’s quite a large area. Now the sides of his hand are brushing against more wood at the side. 

As his eyes widen in horror, I believe that the reality of the situation has dawned on him. Shaking, he runs his hands freely across the wood surrounding him – only a couple of inches either side and above. Now his feet are brought in and they merely confirm that the wooden crate surrounds him completely.

“No…. no! Help!”

Screaming, he slams a fist into the crate above him - effectively a coffin lid - and the dull thud he hears in reply puts a halt to all of his protests. He knows, even in this panic-stricken state that if he were merely trapped in a coffin, that hammering on the lid would sound reasonably hollow. But the sound he hears is a thick, dull thud. The sort of sound you might expect if it was insulated. And indeed it is. Mikey is buried three feet below the surface in my garden.

The hammering starts again; in earnest this time.

“Let me out! Please! Help me!”

He’s gasping for breath. Partly anxiety, partly lack of air. He has been down there since just before five this morning. Frankly, I’m amazed he woke up at all. But now he has, he’s using the remaining air at a frightening speed.

Now he’s pushing on the lid. The contortion on his face tells me that he’s using every last ounce of strength he possesses, but the weight of the soil is too great. I know he’s trapped and there’s a part of him that knows it too.

Alternately pushing and hammering, his fists are now bleeding and probably broken with the effort.

“Please! Let me out! Please for fuck’s sake let me out!”  
“Language!” I chide him.  
“Where are you?” he asks me frantically as he swings his head from side to side in his panic. “Please, let me out! I can’t breathe!”  
“I know." I tell him. "That's the point.” 

I actually feel sorry for him. I can see the terror on his face, the wildness in his eyes and the tears standing there as he realises I intend to kill him. That very soon he’ll draw in his last breath.

“Please!” he begs weakly.

Behind me, I hear the door open. I know who it is, but not what he wants. It’s not as though I can speed this along. But maybe faster isn’t what he wants? He can be quite cruel.

“I’ve had enough! Switch that off!”  
“No!” 

Mikey’s last terrified scream chills me as the camera, monitor and sound are shut down. I notice a slight shake in his hands as he does it. He didn’t watch with Frankie either, maybe he’s not as tough as he thinks he is.

I look up at him. It’s a non-judgemental stare but he can’t even meet my gaze.

“Bob’s awake. Deal with it.”  
“Don't you want to watch?”  
“I told you, no,” he snaps as he turns quickly to leave the room.

I gather my thoughts and try to calm down. Mikey’s claustrophobic panic had, as I had expected, transferred itself to me. I hate enclosed spaces. It was time to brush that off and move on. If he wasn’t already dead, he must have been very close. 

The camera is still recording though even though the monitor is switched off - he won't be disappointed. But why he wants to watch the recordings and not the events is beyond me!


	7. Who is the mysterious man asking her to do this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob's just woken up and it's his turn but they both get more than they bargained for

It was a tricky one with Bob. I know he has a fear of heights, but it’s practically impossible to set someone up at a height, in a regular house at the best of times. Try it while they’re unconscious and you see the problem I was presented with! As it turns out, Ray did me a favour. I had plans for him, but, of course, I didn’t use them because I killed him already. So, I have a set up going unused that is far less elaborate and safer, for me, than what I had planned for Bob. But, what can I say? It’s still effective and terrifying, no matter who you are, or what you’re afraid of.

My parents always dreamed of having a pool. That’s why they bought this big old house. As you can imagine, it’s pretty cold here for most of the year and an outdoor pool is not really an option. My parents opted for an indoor pool. And I have to admit that over the years, I’ve really enjoyed it.

Of course, today, it has another use.

As I stare down into the drained pool, I can see Bob, awake and angry, pulling furiously on the chains anchoring him to the bottom. Of course, there’s nothing in the pool to chain him too, but I’ve had time to make modifications. I took the grating off one of the filters. Filling the entire gap with concrete, I set a metal ring into the centre. The same kind I had Frankie chained to. It’s pretty solid; I really don’t see him pulling free.

I’m really trying to be more upbeat about this, but Mikey’s experience really got to me. I’m still quite shaken. Looking up at the camera, I can see it’s recording, so it’s time.

I’m barely in the room and he’s yelling at me from the bottom of the deep end.

“Marion! What the hell is going on here?”

He knows my name! The others didn’t even recognise me, but he knows my name!

“How do you know my name?” I demand, somewhat shakily.  
“Marion, we talked on set, you made me a sandwich while I was waiting for them to get the lighting right. Don’t you remember?”

Now it was my turn to feel bad. I was accusing them of being rude, arrogant and insensitive. Of being bad boys. And here I am, no better. He’s spoken with me, knows my name and I don’t even remember. 

What if he’s wrong? What if they don’t deserve to die? What if I’ve made a mistake?

“I may have made a mistake. He told me I had to kill you all, that you were bad. I need to check this with Gerard. I’ll be right back.”  
“Gerard!”

I hear him shout the name in disbelief as I run from the room. But can he really be that surprised? Doesn’t he know what he’s like? I can hear Bob pulling frustratedly at the chains. I think he realises that he’s held pretty much by his wrists at the bottom of the deep end of the pool. He knows if I fill it, he’ll drown.

I know I’ve given him more time to worry about it, which is very cruel of me. But it’s not meant as a cruel action, I need to talk about this. What if he’s wrong?

“That was quick,” he looks up smiling. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?”  
“No, I…”  
“So, what can I do to repay you?”   
“Tell me again why you wanted this.”

It doesn’t matter that he thinks I’ve killed Bob already; the question is still the same. What surprises me is his reply. 

“I told you, I wanted to leave the band. Maybe start a solo career, concentrate on my art.”  
“You could have just left.”

The idea that he had to kill them to leave is sounding ridiculous now and I need him to explain again. 

“No,” he shakes his head and I can see anger forming on his face. “No, you see, I couldn’t. They had me exactly where they wanted me and I couldn’t do or say anything without their approval.”  
“Go on.”  
“Years ago, I did a lot of bad things. I was high on drugs and alcohol and I don’t remember whole chunks of my life.”  
“What bad things?”  
“Shall we just say that they’ve got voice recordings and video of me doing things that would put me away for a very long time. At first, they said it was the only way they could get me to quit. I either gave up the pills and booze or they were going to hand the lot over to the police.”  
“So, you quit.”  
“Yeah, I quit. But they kept hold of the tapes and now, when I say I want to leave the band; they can force me to stay. They were blackmailing me! Telling me I owed them for covering for me!"

"That does sound bad," I nod. 

I'm feeling much better now and I'm ready to return to the pool to deal with Bob. 

Just as I'm about to leave he begins to chuckle and it grows over about a minute and a half into almost hysterical laughter. 

"Oh, Marion, I can't believe you actually fell for that! They didn't do anything! They just never realised that being drunk stopped the real me from coming out! Now, I’m free! I'm rid of them and I have some tapes of my own to enjoy!”

I go silent for a moment. I wasn’t expecting that. I’ve killed the others but it’s Gerard who is the bad one. He’s played me and I’m not happy about it. Outside, I can hear sirens and I realise the police have arrived.

“You thought they weren’t looking for you, but of course they were,” he grins at me. “I called them, pretending I’d managed to get to my cell phone. I did the terrified routine really well. Told them you’re a psycho and would kill us if you thought they were on to you. While you were with Bob, I called them again with a tip off of where you are.”  
“You are a very bad man.”  
“You don’t know the half of it!” he sneers at me.

Then suddenly he’s right in front of me, grabbing my hair and pushing a knife, probably the same one I used on Ray, deep into my side. I feel hot and cold at the same time. My legs give way underneath me and I can barely breathe. As I fall, he pulls the knife up, ripping at me further. I know I won’t survive this.

“And the video?” he gloats. “It'll show the cops that you killed everyone and that I must have done this in self defence. I’m free and there are no witnesses to say that any of this was my doing.”

But he’s wrong. He doesn't realise that I recorded everything. He's not physically on the video but his voice is. It's on the video demanding that the recording be shut off during his own brother’s murder. He doesn’t know that Bob’s still alive and knows it’s him and that that’s on the video too. And as I breathe my last breath, I smile at the thought that his entire confession has also Just been recorded. 

I’m nothing if not thorough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too evil? One more chapter of this, then I'll probably post the sequel - Tell Me I'm A Bad Man. Hope you're enjoying :)


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later...

**6 Months Later**

“What do _you_ want?  
“I don’t know.”  
“Well, I never did rate your intelligence all that much, Bryar.”

As the drummer stared at his former frontman through the thick plate glass separating them, his brow furrowed as he tried to put into words all the half formed questions he had swirling around in his mind. Eventually, only one word came out.

“Why?”

Gerard laughed and leaned back in the chair, frowning again as he tried to move his hands, only to be restricted. Looking down at his hands handcuffed to a thick leather belt fastened around his waist, his frown turned to a look of fury.

“Why! You want to know why?” he yelled, staring up at Bob once more, his eyes wide with indignant anger. “You had me trapped! But you know all that, you were at the trial, you saw that damn recording.”

Bob looked down at his hands as he recalled the video. He remembered crying profusely as he saw how Frank and Mikey had suffered. Hearing how Ray had died, knowing what had almost happened to him. It was something he would never forget.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I saw it. I’m never gonna be able to wipe that from my memory. No matter how much therapy I have.”  
“Oh, poor Bob seeing a shrink. Having nightmares are you?”

Bob looked away again, refusing to make eye contact as Gerard tormented him.

“Well, you’re not dead, but maybe this is as good as!”  
“What the fuck! I don’t know about any recordings of you doing anything bad; high, drunk or otherwise!”  
“You joined as I was getting clean, maybe you didn’t know?”  
“The police searched for them you know, wanted to see if they could get you on anything else, but nothing turned up.”  
"What? Murder and accessory to murder and kidnapping not enough for them?"  
“You’re missing the point!”  
“What exactly is your point, Bryar?”  
“Those tapes don’t exist. Do you really think Ray, Frank or Mikey would stand there filming you as you did anything bad enough to get you locked up? You dreamt them up. They were never real. Just your twisted mind trying to find a reason to get you to stop pumping all that poison in. Then you started to believe it and you… you…”

Gerard leaned forward again.

“Tried to kill you all. You can say it. Think of this as more therapy.”  
“I don’t know why I came here.”  
“No, I have to admit, I’m a little puzzled myself. Gloat, maybe?”  
“Gloat? What have I got to gloat about?” Bob’s shoulders sagged as he spoke. Looking Gerard in the eyes was proving increasingly difficult. He was not the man he thought he knew.  
“Jersey’s the only state in the US without a death penalty but the house was in New York so I get arrested by their cops. Death by lethal injection. Aren’t you even a little bit pleased that I’m going to die by my phobia, like Frank and Mikey?”  
“Pleased?” Bob spat. “How can you think I’d be pleased!”  
“Oh, you’re gonna be years in therapy,” Gerard laughed. “Come to terms with it now, you’re going to need to.”  
“Why?”  
“Why?” Gerard repeated. “Because I’m getting out of here and when I do, I’m finishing the job!”

Bob’s breathing quickened as Gerard uttered the threat. He didn’t know the reason he had visited. Perhaps to convince himself that it wasn’t real. That Gerard wasn’t this twisted, disturbed individual, hell bent on revenge for something that had never even happened. But the truth was that it was all too real.  
Pushing the chair back, Bob rose to leave. At the door, Bob felt sick to his stomach as he heard Gerard’s final words to him.

“Yeah, go now, while you can! I’m coming for you Bryar! Trust me!”

 

**THE END**

[❮](http://ficwad.com/story/117491)


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